There are six rooms, and a kitchen like one you would see in a residence. There is a place to sign in. There is someone at the front desk and a buzzer sounds whenever someone enters or leaves.
Her room is named after a color which is also the name of a fruit. Her window overlooks some of the wooded grounds, but she does not notice.
She sleeps almost all of the time now. She does not see the couple of pieces of furniture in the room, nor does she see the curtains made lovingly by someone (I suspect) in a bird print - not quite parakeets, but that's what I want to think they are. I love birds. I love parakeets.
Her husband, my first cousin, held her hand and whispered that we were here to see her, but she did not awaken. He had already been there for a couple of hours, and was going to go home soon to make lunch for himself and his adult son (who lives with him). Then, later in the evening, he would go to work.
The cancer had come quickly, leaving her partially paralyzed, and it took him a while to process what was happening. His wife was given anywhere from a month to 18 months by her doctors. Sadly, the tumor is growing quickly and now he just takes it one day at a time.
We all knew this visit (we had also seen her about two weeks ago) would be the final one. There aren't too many days left for this loving, devoted couple. My cousin is in a bad place right now - besides what is happening with his wife, he also lost his brother, his only sibling, less than a year and a half ago.
He's a man who uses humor and punning to interact with family and friends. On our last visit, his wife was able to talk briefly with us, and they shared some puns. But when we visited the other day, there were no laughs, no puns.
An hour or so after we left, my cousin texted me.
His text was simple. "Thanks for stopping by it means a lot."
I was lost for words.
I still am.
|Bougainvillea, symbol of welcoming visitors|